Lost, Broken, and Bound
by inspired-wisdom
Summary: This story follows Draco and his friend through Hogwarts. Well, I suck at summaries, not at writing! It's more interesting than it sounds, really! Please read!
1. Into the Night

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter! If I did it probably wouldn't be called fan fiction.

**Author's Notes**: This is my first fan fic, so I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Thanks!

"Find another place to feed your greed, while I find a place to rest, you try to take the best of me, go away." A Place for My Head, Linkin Park.

**Chapter One**

_Into the Night_

In the dark no one could see the small figure curled in a tight ball in the dimly lit pub, and if anyone saw, no one really seemed to take notice. It was, for better or worse, usually this way for the tight curled up ball. No one noticed the fear or the bruises, no one could see that he was dying on the inside. Right now, however, no one noticing was a good thing. As long as he was never discovered, he was safe, or so he would figure.

Would being the key word. Right now the figure took little notice and had few real thoughts. He was falling into a world that was his own nightmare. Hiding, fearful, horrid nightmare, where all that was real was the shadows, approaching feet, the drunken conversations that fortunately, did not mention him, and the fear of _him_ finding him here, disobeying. Always disobeying.

The dark was welcomed here at the pub, the smells of beer and sweat mixing into an almost unbearable odor. Tonight, the dark was also welcomed by the figure, or it would have been, had he the ability to think clearly. As it was, he was quite too terrified to think of anything outside the boundaries of the surrounding footsteps on the hardwood floor.

As it was it was very dark. Inside as well as out. Outside it was the most utter dark that could be experienced. The kind of dark that could only be experienced in the middle of winter in the dead of night. Even the lights of the pub seemed to dim only a few yards away, and become nearly impossible to spot. The small village, if ten or so houses and one pub could be called a village, would almost be impossible to find in the dark.

Only hours before, in the fading light of evening that came oh too soon, the figure had been lost, frozen, and near death before luck, something not well known to the person, had befallen him, and he had spotted dim lights of the village. At the end of his rope, had he even missed the village by more than two hundred feet, he would never have seen the village, and in the growing cold there could be no doubt that he would not have survived for another hour had he not discovered the village when he did.

Discovering the village would not be enough to save him however. If he had thought about what he was doing before he had thrown himself to face the bitter cold, before having to face an even colder figure, he would realize that he was trapped. He would have realized there was no escape, or at least not this way, not this time. Maybe never. There was no escaping his own fate either.

But enough of the figure in the corner. The man whom the pub belonged, a pub by the name of Grayson's Pub, not original, but quite appropriate, attended to the fairly crowded place. There was a big game of football that night, and every man able to drink had headed down to the pub to be able to watch the game away from the burdens of their normal, everyday lives. They were here to get drunk and perhaps win a brawl or two before the night's end.

Tonight there seemed to be little arguing over which team was the preferred, and it also appeared to be doing the best. This was lucky for the man named Robert Grayson, the quite lenient pub owner. He knew everyone in town, and allowed many things to go unnoticed under his nose, even though he was, in reality, quite aware of them. Too many brawls meant having to throw valuable customers in a town where there was only a certain number of people upon which he could get on the bad side of. He had to keep his business from going under and yet some how keep a good reputation. Unfortunately, he was failing miserably, at least on the reputation, but he had returning customers, and he made a fair share of money. Enough to make up for sacrificing the pub, and more than likely, his 'good' name.

He kept the pub open late that night. It was only when the light outside outweighed the light emitted from the inside of the pub did he begin to close up and throw out what was left of the football party, namely, drunks in such a stupor as to not remember the direction to their house, if not out of habit. When he finally kicked out old Jerry, whom was asleep, almost drowning in his own drool, it was nearly noon.

His bar had a reputation alright. A reputation for dirt and grime, cheap beer and brawls. Despite this, he actually _did_ wash his pub, keeping the tables clean, and most things neat. This effort was unnoticed by the majority of people. This pub was his one and only child, his true beloved, and what kept him alive. If he had to sacrifice his reputation to keep it above water, than he would gratefully due so.

It was as he was finishing washing and clearing off the last table, one by the wall, in the middle, did he notice the small dark figure, covered in what looked to be a black blanket, shivering and trembling in the corner. He felt a sudden dread in his breast, wondering how long the young minor had been in there and what a child so small was doing away from his family.

He instantly wondered to whom the child belonged, certain it was someone who had been at his pub. If the he found out to whom he belonged, and he discovered they had brought him here, they would no longer be welcome, people who were drunk enough to neglect their family in such a manner were not welcome in his pub, let alone leaving the minor here. He sighed, knowing he'd have to approach the frightened child.

Slowly and carefully the Mr. Grayson approached the figure. While he could not see the face covered by the black material, he noticed the figure inch further toward the corner, pulling himself into a tighter ball. He doubted that this was a good thing.

When he was finally close to the figure, he got to his knees, and started to lift the blanket. Pale blond hair, shimmering, almost white, was all he could see. Mr. Grayson's brow knotted in confusion, not knowing any person in town whose child had such delicate and fine colored hair. It was long, but the length of a small boy's, not girl's.

He heard the child quietly whimper, but the boy still refused to look at him. Grayson had a feeling of foreboding. Something about this small boy just wasn't right, something was terribly different. He feared that perhaps the boy had come from a home where the parents were more than just stupid drunks. Of course, that was really none of his business, he knew. His business was running the pub, and he had made his business on the foundation that whatever was going on outside the pub was none of his business. After all, perhaps the child was just a lost and frightened, not necessarily in any real trouble at all.

"Hello, it's okay, can you tell me you're name?" Grayson asked as kindly and calmly as he could muster.

The child shook his head, and tried seemed to try to withdraw further into himself. Grayson would have sighed again, had he not wanted the boy to hear. This was not going to be easy.

"Can you tell me where you come from, who you're parents are?" he asked.

Again the boy shook his head slightly, and wrapped his limbs closer to his body. Grayson knew that he was going to have to gain enough of the boy's trust for him to say anything.

"Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?"

At this the boy did not respond. Then, ever so slowly, he lifted his small head and looked at the man who's hair was a dark musty brown and for some odd reason, and looked as though it should contain mothballs. Dark brown eyes met silver-gray ones with just the tiniest hints of blue. The boy, eyes large and frightened, nodded even more slightly than he had before.

"Well that's good, because I have a ton of food I've been needing to get rid of," he said standing up straight, before continuing. "It's perfectly fine, not stale or nothin', just that nobody really comes here for food, and it just piles up, and if it's not eaten it'll go stale, and it's not like I can eat it all myself."

He went to the back of the pub and got a few treats for the boy. He had looked so pale and small he was afraid that if he even spoke too loudly that he might crumble and break. He called from the back, "You like chips and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"

He realized the boy was not going to respond to that with more than the nod of his head. He grabbed the supplies and went to the table. He looked at the boy, and he nodded. "Good, because I'm not much of a cook honestly."

He then proceeded to make the sandwiches. He looked down at the boy. "If you're going to eat, you're going to have to eat up here at the table, okay?" he asked.

This time the boy didn't nod or refuse. Rather, with cold and stiff limbs, he slowly lifted himself up and silently sat down and began to eat. When he was done he looked guiltily at the food.

He looked at the man with those same shocking eyes. The grey seemed so cold, so distant, but the hint of blue making him look real, innocent, vulnerable. It was an odd mix, to be sure. But the boy appeared to be odd as well.

Finally he managed to whisper, "Thank you."

It was barely audible, but Mr. Grayson caught it. "Your very welcome. My name's Mr. Grayson. You look cold, would you like a blanket?"

The boy nodded, he tried to say thank you again, but his throat was burning, and his voice was scratchy which rawness and fear, and he tried to word it but nothing came out. Grayson put up his hand and said, "It's no problem, you're welcome."

Mr. Grayson left for a moment, and went upstairs from the back room of the pub and into the flat that where he lived. He grabbed one of the warmest blankets he had that wasn't in use or need of washing. He went back downstairs and gave it to the boy who nodded appreciatively, for he couldn't do much else, and wrapped it around himself.

"Does your voice hurt? Would you like some water?"

The boy nodded again. Mr. Grayson, again, responded in accordance to the boy's need. He gave the boy the water, and he managed to sip on it, his throat burning.

"It seems you're coming down with something, I could get the doctor - " Mr. Grayson said, but the boy shook his head so viscously Grayson was surprised his neck didn't snap.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you can't stay here, and I can't help you, since I don't even know your name…" Mr. Grayson said.

"Draco," the boy whispered, to quiet for Grayson to hear properly.

"Drake?"

"Draco."


	2. Fights, Fevers, and Fears

**Disclaimer: **Alas, I still do not own Harry Potter.

"Well I don't want to see you waiting, I've already gone too far away, I still can't keep the day from ending, no more messed up reasons for me to stay." Wasting My Time, Default

**Chapter Two**

_Fights, Fevers, and Fears_

That night, or more appropriately called, that day, Mr. Grayson allowed the boy, whose name appeared to be Draco, sleep in his bed upstairs. Mr. Grayson normally slept during the day, but he figured the small boy would need it more than him. He figured he wouldn't have gotten much sleep anyway. The boy had looked a mix between fearful and thankful when he had showed him to the room and allowed him to sleep in his bed.

"Draco," Mr. Grayson whispered to himself. "What an odd name."

He didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to do with this information? The boy's name was Draco, a rare name, yes, but not enough to get him anywhere. He shook himself, when did finding a child's parents become his responsibility, anyway? The thought was selfish and hard, he knew, which is exactly the image he liked to give to his customers, but to some degree, he knew this boy was more than something he could hand off to someone else. For another today, at least, he would remain in his care.

As the day wore on his priorities once again shifted to his job. He got the pub ready, and cleaned himself off, paid the bills, and ordered more supplies before readying himself for the evening bustle. He opened his doors, and the pub soon filled with it's usual occupants, no small figures pressed in shadow, of this Mr. Grayson was sure.

He knew that the boy would need to be given over to the proper authorities. But the nearest police station was three hour's drive, and his car had broken down months ago. Not to mention the blizzard they'd had two nights ago made travel of any sort very difficult. That would mean the best he could do was keep this boy for a few more days, maybe get him to trust him enough to give him a last name. A last name would certainly do a lot more good, even a 'Draco Johnson' would be easier to find.

The foot ball team had won the previous night, and tonight there was an after party of sorts. The whole of the town seemed to be drinking themselves into a comfortable bliss, and he noted, the normally man-filled pub, had a good few more female residents than normal. He wondered at his luck at having made his pub in what had to be the most alcoholic town in England. Certainly most small villages that had pubs could not have done half as well as his own, and most certainly would have went under. Sometimes he wondered if that was a good thing or not - everyone drinking themselves mad. But then his practical, more dominant side took over, and said, it was his business to serve them drinks, nothing else mattered.

But the fact is that he had something else that mattered greatly now. He had a child in his bedroom, who undoubtedly had a fever, sleeping in his bedroom. He knew he should check on him, but he couldn't leave the pub unattended, and he had never hired help, his pub was busy, but nothing he couldn't handle.

The messes he got himself into! He was tied to the boy because he had let him slip under his nose and into his pub and had neglected to notice. He knew that if he didn't try his best to get this 'situation' on the right track, that he could easily lose his license, and then what would he do? But he couldn't leave the pub, so he pushed the anxieties out of his mind, telling himself Draco was probably still asleep in bed.

Whether from his normal leniency or from the worries that hid in the corner of his mind, he didn't seem to notice that trouble was stirring in the pub that night, not until to late anyways. This time the trouble was a bit more serious.

"I don't know what she wants from me! I mean…" at this point the brown rugged looking man stopped, his words were slurred, and he held a mug in his hand at one of the tables, many more empty ones surrounding that one. He seemed dizzy and had to pause before continuing.

"I go to work everyday, six days a week, back - back - back breaking labor." the man hiccupped. "All I want is a roll in the hay every now and then. But no. She's too tired. The kids could hear…then she just off and expects me to vacuum or take out the garbage…" at ths point the hiccupped. He looked about one drink away from passing out entirely.

The man lifted one thick arm to wipe of his scraggily happen brown beard with a hairy hand, and, through much obvious effort, attempted to continue, "I mean, I work, I do and I do, and she spends my money, and she wants me to do the one job she has. And she could…could…at least put out every now and then."

The black haired man who was much the same in structure and appearance, though perhaps a good deal less drunk, nodded his head in agreement and understanding and raised his drink to him. Now this conversation wasn't much to take notice of but the one happening at a not too far away table was. At this table there sat four men, a considerable amount younger, in perhaps their early thirties, for the most part, another conversation, not at all too different, was beginning to brew.

You see, the youngest man, in only his mid to late twenties, who just happened to be the most hot-headed man, whose blond hair was cut short and had jell running through it so that it was placed just so, overheard this conversation. A mixture of chaos, anger, and drink made him, after overhearing the conversation, change the conversation at his table. He didn't much like the large brown haired man, and he just happened to know something that would give him what he had been wanting for days - a good brawl.

And as it happened, the brown haired man, through his drunkenness, happened to hear the conversation mid-swing.

"Yeah, yeah, and her legs, I mean, for a mother she was hot!" said the blond haired man.

After much cheering and other comments as well as encouragement, the man, whom they were calling Nathan Wilkins, continued quite cheerfully, "Oh yeah, and her body, I mean, you'd never know behind those drab clothing there lied a masterpiece. I mean her chest…And she was so willing. She was so passionate. She said her husband didn't appreciate her and that she needed a real man to fulfill her needs. Her name? Something like Wallers or Walters, yeah, that's it, Walters, Maria Walters."

Of course the man, who we shall now know as Mr. Walters, seemed to jump right out of his stupor at that. He seemed alert and aware, and incredibly angry. He stood abruptly and faced the man whose table was so close and managed to say the majority of what he had come to say without slurring, "You talkin' about my wife? You little bastard! You have no right to talk about her in such a manner, you're going to pay for your stupid filthy lies."

The man threw back his head and laughed, and Mr. Walters inquired hotly, "What are you laughing at boy? Do you think I'm funny?"

"No, just amused at the fact that you thought I was lying. Why, I'd never lie about such a thing," he said and smiled smugly.

"Why you - !" at this the other man stood as well, just in time to be punched back down onto his seat.

At this the whole of the pub was in an uproar. Everyone looked over or began to get up to see what was happening. In all the commotion, the small blond haired child was overlooked. Spotting a piece of bread, and feeling hot and woozy, he slowly made his way over to the table, the same table our young Mr. Wilkins happened to be holding his bruised jaw, and staring angrily and incredulously at Walters.

The fight broke out just as the child got in the middle of it, being roughly shoved into the wall and banging his head not too soon after it began, he gave a short, loud cry of pain, and at this Mr. Grayson looked up and saw the boy laying on the ground, too afraid to get up.

Grayson let his temper get the better of him. Arguing was one thing, fist-fighting was another, and it was always intolerable, though sometimes overlooked. Letting the small boy get in the way was another, and he cursed himself in addition to cursing Walters and Wilkins.

"Knock it off!" he shouted. They took no notice. He picked up a bat.

He walked over to the fight, and the crowd parted to let him through. "I said KNOCK IT OFF!" When they still took no notice, he gave a good swing at their legs, and they both fell back to the ground with bruised legs. "Out of my pub, everyone out, now!"

At this their was much grumbling, and some drunken confusion, but wielding the bat in his hand, people slowly filed out, the two angry parties vowing to finish later. At this Mr. Grayson shouted, "Not at my pub you're not!"

He went over to Draco, his bat still in his hand, and Draco pushed against the wall as though he wished he could become a part of it. "Hey it's ok now, they're all gone," he said quietly, but the boy merely gave a quick and fearful glance at the bat, and crouched further away.

Mr. Grayson noticed this and looked down at the bat, scrunching up his face at the boy's fear. He threw it away and Draco seemed to relax a little, enough to really look at him anyway. He asked Draco if they had hurt him, and he shook his head no. It was then, however, that he noticed Draco's slightly black eye, and bruised jaw. He frowned.

"Look, it's ok now," he repeated. The boy seemed to disagree, but nodded slowly.

It was then Mr. Grayson noticed the good amount of sweat pouring from the boy's forehead, and how pale he was, paler than yesterday. He knew that this was very bad. He moved as to put his hand on the boy's forehead, and the boy crouched away at the attempt.

"Shhh…" he soothed as a mother might, "It's ok, I just want to feel your forehead."

This time the boy allowed it, though still not trusting of the touch. He was burning up. Worried, Mr. Grayson got up and told Draco to follow him. Draco got up and attempted to take a step forward, only to stumble and almost fall before Mr. Grayson picked him up and carried him up the stairs. The fever was much worse than he thought, and it would only get worse.

Once he placed Draco in the bed he fell almost immediately into an unconscious state. He got a thermometer and placed it in his mouth, keeping his mouth open slightly so he could breathe, as it was impossible for him to breathe through his stuffy nose. When it was done, he looked at it, it was much too high.

He called Darla Gourmand, a friend who lived in the village and was a doctor in the closest city. She said she'd be over in an instant. Five minutes later she arrived, medical supplies at the ready. She asked about everything that had happened, and he answered truthfully. After she was done she quietly, slowly aroused Draco out of his sleep and gave him some medicine, which he would have been suspicious of, except that he was very ill, and very near to death.

"Nothing happened to him while he was here, are you sure?" she asked when she was done.

"I swear nothing happened, I made sure of that," Grayson said.

Darla looked at him with an unreadable expression, "He wasn't hurt when he was thrown?"

"No."

"He's been abused, I'll need to take him to social services once he's better," Darla said.

Mr. Grayson nodded. "Thank you so much Darla."

She nodded, and said she was doing her job and then instructed him on how to take care of Draco, and said she'd be back to check up on him. Mr. Grayson nodded, knowing he'd lose a few days worth of pay, but also knowing he'd some how gotten himself into the mess, and admitted the boy's life was more important. Darla turned to look at the small pale haired boy once before she left, a look of sad empathy in her eyes before she left.

Slowly, over the course of a few days, the boy showed signs of improvement. His complexion darkened (though it was still considerably pale), and he was awake more often than asleep. Eventually Darla told Mr. Grayson it was time the boy leave, and they went up together to collect him.

"Hello, Draco," said Mr. Grayson.

"Hello, Mr. Grayson," Draco replied. While he was still a boy of few words, he had learned his name and would greet the man.

"Dr. Gourmand needs a moment with you ok?"

Draco looked doubtful, but nodded anyway. "Draco," she said talking in the same tone as Mr. Grayson had used, one used when talking to a small child, "where do you live?"

He shrugged, and the doctor sighed. "If you can't tell me where you live, then we can't get you home, don't you want to go home, Draco?" Darla asked, skillfully slipping in the question she was more interested in.

He shrugged again. "Are you happy when you're at home?"

He shrugged. "Listen Draco, if you don't tell us anything, we can't help you, we'll have to take you to a foster home, do want to live in a foster home?"

He nodded 'no'. "Well, you'll have to give us your last name, Draco, you know you're last name, don't you?"

It was weird, for both Mr. Grayson and Darla when Draco gave them an obvious scornful look, for it was especially odd coming from such a small boy whose blond hair and light eyes made him look like an innocent angel. "Yes."

"What is it?" Darla asked.

Draco shot a quick look of uncertainty to Mr. Grayson, whose brow knotted in concern. "Malfoy."

"Malfoy, that's an unusual name, who do you live with?"

"My mum and dad," he replied.

"Do you live with anyone else, any brothers or sisters?" Darla asked.

He shook his head no. "Do you like living there?"

He shrugged, and then said, "Yeah…I guess…It's - kinda boring really."

"Boring? How?"

"I don't know, we live in a large house and no one lives around us. I don't know anyone my age."

"How old are you?"

"Five."

"Are you in school yet?"

"No - my mum teaches me some things though," this reply was accompanied by another shrug.

"Did you get lost, were you going somewhere?"

It was a moment or two before the boy replied. "We were going shopping, in a big city. I don't remember the name. I saw some older boys and went to play, but they beat me up and then next thing I know it's night and I didn't know where I was."

"Do you know the boys' names?"

"No."

"Was it the boys who hurt you, gave you those bruises?" Darla said, doubtful, but not letting it show.

"Yes."

"Did your mother or father ever hit you?"

"Never, no!"

"Will you tell us where you live?"

Draco didn't respond. Darla's doubts were obvious and she sighed. "Look, Draco, since we can't let you stay here - it isn't fit for children, and you won't tell us where you live, we're going to have to put you into foster care."

He shook his head violently, once again refusing to talk to anyone. He gave Mr. Grayson a look that almost broke the businessman's heart. He didn't go easily, and he didn't talk to the doctor once on the way to the city where she worked. They got into town, and she said, "It's called Goldsville, you'll like it here."

She couldn't see from Draco's position behind her but the glare he gave her was almost bad enough to kill. When they got to a large, worn looking red brick building, she got out and went to open the door from Draco. He got out and moved stiffly through his anger, to the door. Darla greeted everyone there kindly, knowing many of whom through a friend.

When she started to fill out the paper work for Draco, there appeared a man in the adjoined room. "Hello," a smooth, almost cold-sounding voice said.

"Hello, can I help you?" said the red headed woman behind the desk. Darla looked up momentarily to look at the man who looked like he was fighting down revulsion, but with a polite tone.

"Yes, you see, my son, Draco - ," the blond haired man began.

Draco subconsciously took a step back toward the desk that Darla was filling out papers at. Darla noticed this but didn't look.

"Well, we were out one day, and the next thing I know he's gone. I'm afraid that he may have fallen into some trouble, but I'm hoping that isn't true, and was wondering if you've seen him. He's five, and has blond hair. My name is Lucius Malfoy," the man said.

"Well, we actually have seen one person meeting that description, he's actually here right now, just go through that doorway," the woman said, not giving it a second thought.

The boy shut his eyes, and tried to make himself a part of the wall. That didn't however, stop Lucius from spotting Darla, who was conveniently hiding him from view. "Hello, have you seen my son, his name is Draco."

At this Darla looked up, for he was speaking to her, and talking about her young charge. She looked at him suspiciously, and said, "Are you in relation to him?"

"Yes, I'm his father. I'm afraid he was lost, but it seems he found his way into to caring hands. His mother and I have been frantic for days. I bet he'll be happy to be getting home," Lucius said.

"Yes, that may be but - " Darla began, her dark cream skin suddenly feeling Draco's trembling body.

"Ah, there you are Draco, it's time we be getting home," Lucius said.

"Look, Mr. Malfoy, I'm sure you mean well, but he's in the our custody now, and - " Darla began.

"Is that so, have you done this officially, let me see," Lucius stated.

Darla looked down at Draco, fear evident in his eyes, and he didn't look at her, all his focus was on the tall man in front of her. "No, but we have reason - "

"No, ah, I see. Then I'll be taking him home unless you have some evidence to prove I've done something wrong?"

Darla searched her mind. Draco wouldn't admit to anything but his story, and with no one to contradict it and no papers filled out, and this man, his cold grey eyes staring at her, she began to lose some of the nerve she had attained over being a doctor over the years. "I - I - No. He's free to go."

"Good, we'll be getting home then."

"Goodbye, Draco," Darla said softly, but doubting whether he heard.

Once outside Lucius bent down outside the rental limo and whispered menacingly in his ear, "Your punishment awaits."

He pushed him inside.


	3. Fallen Cradle

**Disclaimer: **If I own Harry Potter then you will turn into an fish in 3...2...1...No? Well, I guess that settles it then. I don't own Harry Potter, or anything else of J. K.'s I don't own.

"I can't seem to fight these feelings, I'm caught in the middle of this, And my wounds are not healing, I'm stuck in between my parents." Broken Home, Papa Roach.

**Chapter Three**

_Fallen Cradle_

Draco cowered in the backseat of the limo. His father was much too disgusted to look at him, for which Draco was very thankful for, for he could get punished for showing such fear. No matter what he tried to tell himself, he was coward, and he could stop himself from showing his fear of that man. The man who was supposed to be his father. His worst enemy.

It was a silent drive, quiet, dreadfully quiet. Draco wasn't sure which would be worst- the screaming of what was to come, or the silent anticipation, knowing that he was too angry to even speak. When they were near the manor, Mr. Malfoy stepped out of the car, and Draco stumbled after him. Mr. Malfoy walked around to the driver's seat, pulled out his wand and muttered, "Obliviate!"

He then muttered another spell Draco didn't hear, and the man drove off very fast in the direction they had just come. Mr. Malfoy then turned to his son and gave him an absolutely murderous look. He grabbed the young boy's collar (the boy was wearing loaned clothes from one of the neighborhood parent's children) and roughly walked him up to the gate to Malfoy Manor.

Draco, still not completely recovered from his bout of sickness, stumbled and fell repeatedly trying to keep up with the man's pace. He didn't complain, whimper, or cry out, he wasn't stupid, he couldn't show fear or pain. He couldn't. Not now, not now. So he bit his lip until it almost bled and tried not to further enrage his father.

Mr. Malfoy simply had to put his hand to the gate for it to allow him to enter, it recognized his magic, his pureblood, his signature. Draco looked back for a moment at the loss of his freedom. He could barely even remember why he'd run away. It had been stupid, he knew, and now he'd pay, he'd pay much worse than he would have paid before. All he'd wanted was something to eat, but he knew when it had gotten dark that there was no turning back, that he'd been lost, and almost in more danger from going back then from the freezing cold.

Draco knew he should have just accepted his punishment, after all, there were many worse things his father could have done to him, things he would probably do now. It was a new form of punishment, just as confusing as all the others. After four days, the little boy had needed nourishment, and unable to ask for it without angering his father, he had went out to get it. It should have been perfectly okay. Mr. Malfoy had been out. Draco knew where the stables were kept, where fresh apples were kept. The snowstorm wasn't supposed to have hit when it did, and unable to make it back in time to the dark, and without having made it to the stables, Draco knew there was no turning back. He couldn't face his father. His father who he knew would have returned to find him missing, disobeying. Running off seemed the only option.

The walk up to the manor seemed to take longer than normal. Even barely able to keep up with the man in front of his pace, the walk took forever. Inside a small, stupid voice that fought for control of his legs screamed, _run, run!_

Inside his father walked him up the stairs, Draco's eyes frantically searched for long blonde hair down every corridor. Light blue eyes that sparkled when they looked at him, and that was only when they looked at him. He looked unsuccessfully. Outside the study Lucius fiddled with the lock on the door angrily, trying to remember the appropriate spells.

"Lucius," said a soft voice cautiously.

Draco's heart swam with hope as his mother approached. She was a young, beautiful woman, despite her aloof nature, and Draco trusted her. He trusted her as much as he distrusted everything else. He distrusted his father, he distrusted the sky to stay up, he distrusted the ground beneath his feet to remain solid, he distrusted himself, but he trusted her for all she was worth.

"Lucius," she said in the same calm voice, reaching out a hand to touch his arm as he muttered spells and profanity under his breath.

Narcissa, despite her normal attitude towards the rest of the world, truly hadn't wanted the life she lived, nor had she expected it. She hadn't loved Lucius, true, but he had never seemed violent, not until Draco was born. Not until 'his legacy' came into being. Not until he started to drink more often, not until he had married Narcissa.

He had never been particularly loving or caring, but when she married him, she had hoped that she would have a family that she could finally care for. She had hoped that they could stay out of the way of the Dark Lord, of risky affairs, of this. When he came back with the mark on his arm, she had been terrified. It wasn't even so much of his allegiance to the Dark Lord, but the look in his eyes as he told her. He told her what he did, of his becoming of a true Death Eater, and the look of hatred and triumph in his eyes. He said he'd done it for her. But even then, she'd believed that she could live normally.

True, he had never harmed Narcissa, but there were times when he had come close. When he had begun to 'train' Draco, she had interfered, he almost cast the killing curse on her, before screaming at her, telling her to mind her own business. She knew then that she'd never escape, and to keep Draco alive, he'd have to wish he were dead.

Narcissa hadn't neglected to notice the anger Lucius had had over Draco's disappearance. Narcissa had hoped her baby would find his way far away from here, that he was alive, and one day she could escape and join him. But Lucius was crazed in his obsession to find and punish Draco, and she hadn't seen him with that look in his eyes in all her memory, and she was afraid. No, she was terrified, but she'd never show it.

"Lucius, please…" she said stronger.

Draco's eyes widened as his father pulled back his hand and slapped her, she gasped and staggered, almost falling to the floor. She held her left cheek where'd he hit her, and wiped the tears that had come from the sting of the slap with her other. Draco cried out, and tried to go to his mother, but with what seemed hardly any effort, Lucius took his grip on Draco's arm, and pushed him behind him, Draco fell on the arm, nursing his torn muscle.

"Narcissa!" he almost hissed, the name going neatly into the hiss. "Do not question me. Is it not our purpose to carry on our lines? Is it not why we are together. You wanted that child, and now he must be taught, disciplined. You dare not question me, Narcissa, and there is no 'if you do' to this Narcissa. There will be none. Our lines will not be ruined by the likes of that boy." His voice was deadly low and there was no arguing with it.

Moments passed, and Narcissa removed her hand. There was a dark red mark, that was changing colors, it would be a bad bruise. "Please…"

Lucius's eyes filled with anger like now other, he raised his fist this time, ready to bring it down.

"No!" Draco cried. He jumped and defended her, jumping on his arm.

Lucius could have easily knocked Draco off, or swung him as well, the little boy being a good deal underweight even before he fell ill. The shock was the only thing that prevented the little boy and the fist from colliding with the fair haired woman. Lucius roared with anger, and threw Draco off him.

Narcissa was fighting tears, something she had done only too often now, alone, at night. Draco could see her coming to save him from the looming man above him, his attention focused on her rather than her father. The spell of fear he'd had over his father all these years temporarily broken.

"Go!" he shouted. His voice sounding older than him. "Go!" he cried. Lucius hit him. He cried, "Please, go!"

The shame and guilt of having his mother see and unable to stop it welling up. In shock and fear Narcissa fled. Draco cried out, his father hitting him. _If only someone knew,_ he thought.

In that moment he realized that he could not trust his mother the way he thought he could. He was alone. He didn't doubt that she loved him, he wouldn't, but she was not his savior, she wouldn't always be there. He was alone. He realized the trust he'd known was nothing more than a thin hope, a whispered promise.

He was alone.

**Author's Notes:** Gets down on knees Reviews, _please!_ Stands up, brushes off, and regains some dignity, then snorts, (like I have any), smiles. I mean cough I would be very pleased if you would grace me with your reviews coughs.


	4. Life on the Edge

**Disclaimer:** Yes, my evil plot has finally succeeded, I do own Harry Potter…Muwhahaha….Just let me take off this straight jacket and show you. Seriously, though, every one knows I **don't**own Harry Potter (yes, I admit it, I don't own Harry Potter). So don't sue.

**Author's Notes:** This chapter is a little long, I planned to get to something else entirely, but it got kind of long, so here it is. I hope you like it, please review! On with it!

"Chasin' the ghost of a good thing, Haunting yourself as the real thing, It's getting away from you again, While you're chasin' ghosts," The Ghost of a Good Thing, Dashboard Confessional.

**Chapter Four**

_Life on the Edge_

The shame itself would have been too much to bare. That Narcissa Malfoy, proud decedent of the Black family tree, could not protect her only child, that he had to protect her. The pain was all most too much to stand, it would have been too much to stand, save for one thing. She had to live, so that perhaps one days she'd be able to save Draco.

Narcissa sadly looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't see what many others saw, she didn't see the fine beauty. Her blond hair that others thought so fine and wonderful to her was nothing more than an illusion, her face was dirty, unfit for others to stare at. She saw the way her nose crinkled and it was horrible. She saw the cold eyes and felt guilty, as though maybe her cold heart had finally frozen over, and she didn't care for Draco enough, and that's why she couldn't protect him.

He was her baby! And right now he was facing what others had faced only in the dark times of Voldemort. He wasn't free like the muggle world, he wasn't rejoicing like the rest of wizarding kind. No, he'd never have that, regardless, and it simply wasn't fair. He'd grow up to be hated and feared because of who his father was, and no one would ever know him.

No one would ever know the Draco she knew. The quiet boy with the small smile and hopeful eyes. No one would know the Draco who protected his mother from even looking at the abuse _he_ had to take. No one would know that little soldier. They'd look at him, at his eyes, and see _him. _Lucius Malfoy, bane of her world.

It was well after midnight, almost dawn when Lucius returned to their room, fell onto the bed and immediately passed out, a content smile on his face. Oh how she wished to jump onto his chest and smack that smirk off his face. How she wished she could just reach out her hands to that neck and strangle 'his righteousness'. How she'd dream of poisoning his drink the following morning, and they'd be rid of him forever. But the risk was to great, Lucius too powerful. If he found out, which he most certainly would, they would all die.

Narcissa quickly snapped out of her day dream and back into her nightmare. She rushed into the hall and ran. She found Draco in his room with his personal house elf, Theodora, or Theo as she allowed Draco to call her. Theodora was carefully attending to some of the wounds, to the best of her ability that is. After all, house elves were not equal to wizards, so they were not given the same rights in Malfoy Manor. They were only allowed to use magic for their chores.

Narcissa cleared her face of the emotions she felt, looking at her small helpless child. She set to work, freeing her mind of emotions, knowing that they'd only get in the way of her magic. When she was done Draco looking a good deal better. He'd wake up sore and in pain in the morning, and it would take at least a week or so for the wounds to heal. Narcissa ran a hand through her sleeping child's hair.

As Narcissa ran her hand through his hair, she noticed his color was paler than normal, and his brow had beads of sweat. She cast a spell and quickly realized that he wasn't recovered from his fever, which looked as though it could be fatal. She quickly set to work on the spells to correct, but she sighed, knowing all her work could be undone, knowing her only son could die if Lucius got his hands on him again.

After Narcissa had married Lucius and had Draco and Lucius had changed, she had often wished she were a muggle. As horrible and dreadful and nasty as that thought was, she would give up her magic for Draco. She'd do nearly anything to keep him safe. Now she was thankful for magic, without it, her little boy would have died long ago.

Staring at her son and remembering the healing spells and process that had become all too familiar to her, she began to notice the familiar tugging of her facial features. She knew that a look of what would appear to be disgust was guarding her face, she tried to wipe it away.

"Mistress Malfoy?" Narcissa heard a quiet voice ask.

"Yes?" Her voice quiet, yet cold and distant, it sounded strange to her, but she knew that it was what others were well used to hearing from her.

"If I may ask, how is Master Malfoy?" the house elf asked. Narcissa turned to her.

"Draco has been damaged badly, and is not yet fully recovered from his fever, his fever will flare violently if he is hurt again," Narcissa said, her voice void of the emotions welling inside as the words poured from her mouth and realization hit.

The house elf nodded, and seemed to await further instructions. Narcissa simply told the house elf to alert her if her son awoke and to bring him food if he requested when he awoke. She gave her permission to go the storage cabinet right away and to get the appropriate potions and medications for him and told her the dosing instructions. The house elf nodded and went off quickly for the potions and returned. Narcissa gave a curt nod and left.

Narcissa's knees felt weak and she traveled into the bathroom that adjoined her room. She took out a potion for her nerves, and then a sleeping draught. She stood next to the bed, staring in disgust at the man whom she'd force herself to lie beside. The cold hearted beast she'd come to know and hate, fear and abide by. She drank the potion quickly, and fell asleep beside the monster known as Lucius.

The potion had worked wonders for her. Narcissa had been able to sleep soundly without a worry, unlike her only son. She'd have to remember to thank Severus for his assistance. For her husband's best friend, he was a good deal more reasonable and compassionate than she would have imagined had she known Lucius's true self earlier. She respected him, to her utter core, she respected him. People feared and even hated him, and his cool demeanor and seemingly emotionless disguise fooled everyone. He was strong, Narcissa wasn't.

She got up and got dressed, looking at herself, realizing she hadn't even changed into night clothes. She went through her morning routine, all the while thinking of Draco. She entered his room before making her way downstairs.

She found Theodora still in his room, sitting at his bedside.

"He hasn't awoken?" Narcissa questioned.

"No, mistress," Theodora said. Concern was not in her voice and the worry was well hidden in her eyes.

"Have you been giving him his medicine?"

"Yes, he managed to wake enough to swallow it, but it was obvious that he was not really awake, mistress."

"Very well," Narcissa said. She cast a spell that would keep him from starving or becoming dehydrated until he awoke, and went back down to her duty.

Narcissa entered the large kitchen, and the house elves, being well trained, didn't swarm her, but politely awaited her request. She noticed one in the corner, Dobby, the poor thing, was Lucius's house elf. She was surprised at his will to survive, having been his house elf since Draco was born, his other's only having lasted sixth months to a year.

Politely as possible, and with much dignity, the appointed house elf approached her and inquired, "Would you like something Mistress."

"A cup of orange juice will do," Narcissa replied. Coffee would have suited her better, but she knew that is what Lucius had every morning, and for some repressed childish reason, she didn't want to be anything like the man.

Her needs were instantly met, and she was handed orange juice, the way she liked it. She nodded and left the kitchen to face the dragon in the dining room.

The dining room was almost a hall really. It was large and luxurious, as were most things in the manor, except the dungeons, they weren't meant to be comfortable though. The walls were a forest green, the drapes on the large windows were a darker green with gold trim, the carpet was soft, and a dark red. The table held at least forty people, not that they had many occasions where forty people were invited.

"Good morning, Lucius," she said by way of greeting, making her way down to his end of the table where he sat at the head, in a finely decorated chair where he held a copy of the Daily Prophet before his face in one hand the coffee in the other.

Instead of his normal nod, he looked up at her, and there was a spark, or perhaps a glint in his eyes as he set down the newspaper. Narcissa's stomach turned on instinct, she never trusted Lucius when he smiled. He rarely smiled, in the times of the Dark Lord, he smiled often, usually after a Death Eater meeting, and now he only smiled when he had planned something for Draco, or after a session with him when he passed out in bed.

"For once, Narcissa, you are right," Lucius drawled, strains of excitement detectable in his voice.

"For what reason dear?" Narcissa asked. She rarely talked to him, and the smile made he situation a little strained for her, especially considering her suppressed hatred of the man whenever she thought of Draco.

"Frank Thorn has informed me that he has been in Britain for the past three months now, and is planning to stay here in Britain. He says that they are finally ready to move back to his old manor now that he's no longer under suspicion from the Ministry of Magic," Lucius said. "His wife is from America you know."

Narcissa didn't know what surprised her more, that Lucius wasn't mad that his friend had been in Britain for three months and not informed him, that he had mentioned the Ministry of Magic without profanities involved, or that he was making small talk. "Yes. Why was it that he had to go looking for a wife there. I thought he fancied that Rita Skeeter woman."

"No, that woman was down right annoying, just a good shag I believe. She's not even a proper pureblood he found out, if he weren't under investigation at the time…" Lucius said. "Well, our lines are running thin, but…I'm surprised your mother and father didn't tell you, most of our lines took of to America some hundred years ago. Easiest way to escape the filthy muggles at the time. Our lines run strongest there. It's always best to find a suitable wife and line for your children so they don't grow up to be mudblood loving bustards like that stupid Andromeda. Look what she did, disgraced your entirely family she did, it's good thing you disowned years before."

Narcissa nodded, sipping her orange juice as Lucius sipped his coffee and gave a short, casual glance at the newspaper. Narcissa remembered Andromeda. True, she had never been fond of Andromeda, her eldest sister, she had disliked her all her life, she had been raised to. She was odd and constantly put down her parents and their way of life. She had made nothing but trouble for their family, but, Narcissa thought, she didn't hate her, though she tended to disregard the fact that she ever existed.

"They had a daughter, do your remember. About Draco's age. I think it'd be good for the to meet each other, it's about time the boy had some decent, proper friends. Maybe she'll be a good influence on the boy," Lucius said.

Narcissa nodded stiffly. A good influence of Lucius wasn't a good person at all…or not ordinarily. Narcissa wondered how evil a little girl could be though.

"They'll be by next Friday," Lucius said, and then returned his full attention to his newspaper. The cold air of his normal self pressing into the room once more.

Narcissa finished her orange juice, and stood to leave. She was turned when Lucius called to her.

"Narcissa, make sure the boy is ready and prepared to meet our guests then," Lucius replied.

Narcissa kept her mouth from dropping by sheer will power alone, instead she nodded. She had no idea whether or not Draco's fever would be down by then. In the middle of the winter, he certainly would be in no condition to be out and about too much. Narcissa gave a silent prayer to whatever god or goddess was listening that they heal Draco quickly.

Narcissa placed the orange juice glass on a counter in the kitchen and then returned upstairs to check on Draco once more. Theodora was hesitantly putting a cool cloth to the forehead.

Narcissa took the cloth from her and the house elf backed off a ways to allow Narcissa to sit on the edge of the bed. "Leave us for now."

The house elf nodded and Narcissa softly placed the cloth to his forehead, returning her full attention to her son, she heard a soft click.

Looking at her son, she felt tears suppressed. She was a horrible mother to let her son just lay here and die, or to get better and be beaten. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. He was sweating more than before, and his face was no longer calm but disturbed and pained. He moaned and tossed his head. He kept moving, his fever taking over his body.

"Shh…my son…my baby…it's ok…." Narcissa soothed.

Still restless Draco continued to toss and turn, and tried to throw off his blanket. With her other hand Narcissa pushed the hair away from his face and continued to run her hand through his thick blond hair.

"_Shhh…my darling, my little one_

_Do not cry my love for I love thee_

_I'll be there to see your face again_

_Do not give up hope my little love_

_I'll meet you again_

_Shhh…my darling my little one_

_I see your face everywhere _

_I take it with me wherever I go_

_I'll never leave you love_

_Look for me my love_

_I'll return to thee_

_Don't cry my love, my little one,_" Narcissa sang softly, holding her baby's hand. She felt tears threaten, and wiped them from her eyes. The soft haunting tune was the same her mother had sung to her. Few would ever suspect Narcissa to even be capable of those emotions, much less to show them in such a beautiful way.

"Mum," Draco moaned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco heard the soft singing, and he struggled to move or to say something, but his body felt like lead. He felt as though he were being suffocated, smothered and cooked.

"Mum," he finally managed, the words exhausted him.

He had heard her sing, she sounded sad. He knew he must be really ill if his mother was singing to him, she hadn't done that in two years, when the doctor's told her to give up on her son, that there was no cure to his mysterious illness, that he would die. Draco felt a hand in his. He squeezed it as tight as he could, but his fingers barely moved.

He realized he was probably dying. Fear and pain crowded whatever empty space he had left. He was so tired, and drowsy he had little room else to think. _I don't want to die_, he thought. Tears welled up behind his eye lids, but he didn't have enough strength to open them.

_I don't want to die_, he thought before he passed out again.


	5. The Struggle

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own Harry Potter, or anything else I don't own.

**Author's Notes:** Please read, and please review! Thanks.

"Be my savior, And I'll be your downfall," Savior, Matchbox 20.

**Chapter Five**

_The Struggle_

Seconds seemed like days over the next three hours. Theodora sat worried by her master's bed, while Narcissa tried every spell known to wizards to help her child. It was all to no avail. It seemed as though all Narcissa could do was pray to whatever goddess or god that was listening that they restore her son.

Three days passed with little to no event. Lucius was too busy mailing and preparing the house for the Thorns' visit. Everything had to be perfect. Not a single hair out of place, not a single speck of dust to be spotted. This kept Narcissa busy as well, supervising the house elves to make sure everything was to her husband's pleasure, so as not to anger him. One more hit could mean death to Draco.

Narcissa watched over her son, on Friday the Thorns would arrive, and it was all ready Monday. Some progress had been seen in Draco, but it was a slow progression towards health. Nothing could come in contact with Draco that could possibly hurt him, or all would be loss. When Narcissa wasn't busy, she spent the rest of her time guarding her only son.

Tuesday evening Narcissa made her way down to dinner, tired and worn out from her busy day. It seemed as though there was always something to do, something to clean or rearrange or prepare…all for one (hopefully) uneventful visit. That evening, Severus had been invited to the manor as well, and as Narcissa entered the dining room, soon both he and Lucius entered as well.

"Good evening Lucius, welcome Severus," Narcissa said, her voice a cross of casual and formal, with an air of dignity mixed in. Sometimes Narcissa shocked herself over her demeanor, which, more often than not, was opposite of her true feelings.

Lucius gave a nod, and Severus gave a short bow and replied, "It is good to see you well, Narcissa."

"The same of you, Severus," Narcissa said, and they all sat down, as their dinner appeared on their plates.

"So, I hear Frank is visiting you this Friday?" Severus inquired, not impolitely.

"Yes, it'll be a nice reprieve to be in the company of another family that is in like to us," said Lucius, indicating all of those in the room.

Narcissa agreed, looking into the dark eyes of her son's godfather. He noticed, and she looked away, a little too quickly. Her heart beating a little faster than necessary. She quickly recovered.

"I visited him not too long ago myself," Severus said, as they began to eat their meals.

"Isn't it true that Frank is your brother?" asked Lucius, knowing the answer.

"Yes, half brother, on my mother's side," Severus said. "Will his children and wife be coming as well?" Severus trying to casually direct the conversation in a different direction.

Severus did not like talking of bloodlines. It was not a well known secret that he himself was impure. That he was a half blood. Of course, he tried to tell himself that blood didn't matter, that families were not perfect despite blood, for look at how, despite his and Narcissa's best attempts at redirecting Lucius's rage, Draco suffered from his father? Were they not pureblood? He tried to tell himself that muggles were no better or worse than the wizarding world as a whole, but often he fell short of truly believing that fact.

"Would you like to join us? I'm sure that I could get Frank to agree," Lucius said.

"I'm not s0 sure I should intrude - " Severus said, uncertainly. He and Frank did not get along the best.

"Nonsense, I shall see you here at noon, or perhaps a little before, friend," Lucius said. "And perhaps we shall celebrate tonight?"

Lucius's suggestion hung in the air. Severus had not seen Draco, nor was he blind to his godson's condition, which a letter from Narcissa had informed him off. If Lucius were to get drunk, there would be no redirecting him if he made it up in his mind to take out his frustration on his son.

"I'm sorry, Lucius, but what with my studies and course work, I do not know if I shall have the time tonight, finals are coming up very soon," Severus replied, using his position at university to excuse himself. After all, while potions came naturally to him, it was not without a good deal of work could one call himself a potions master.

"That is too bad, I think I shall go myself then. Yes, I will," Lucius said, spoiling Severus's attempt to keep Lucius sober tonight.

"I hope you enjoy your night out," Severus said.

"Yes, I will," Lucius said, a twinkling in his eye, and a smile on his face as he raised from his chair and stood at the door of the dining room. "If it is not too impolite of me, Severus, I shall take my leave, and you can when you are ready."

Severus nodded. Narcissa could hear Lucius's footsteps as he made his way outside and down the stairs, and, though they could not hear it, inevitably outside and to the Hogshead or some other such pub.

"Severus," said Narcissa, who stood now, as did Severus, and they made their way out of the dining room. "What am I to do? He can't - he can't touch Draco…it would be…disastrous." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Severus looked at her, not unkindly. He was a distant man, and cared not much for emotions. If it weren't for his little niece or Draco, his heart would certainly have frozen over before the end of the war. Yet, somehow he had survived through his childhood, his Hogwart's years, and the war, still alive and in tact, his emotions still apart of him, if not a very well hidden part of him.

"I know Narcissa, I know," Severus said quietly.

"Please, you have to help me, take Draco to your home, you could - "

"You know I can't. Even if I did, he would find him there, you know that," Severus said.

"I know but - " Narcissa said.

"You know if I thought Draco was in any danger of his life, I would prevent it. Look, I'll go find him, alright, Narcissa? I'll try to make sure he can handle himself tonight, and I'll warn you when he is about to come home, alright?"

Narcissa nodded. Severus let a tiny, strained smile reach his face and then he turned away from her, his robes billowing behind him. Narcissa, a little more at ease returned to her son.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning did Severus contact Narcissa, who was between the waking and dreaming worlds, still at her son's bed. Severus showed up, out of breath, though still looking in control like he always did. His robes were covered in dirt particles and parts were torn.

"Narcissa…he got into a fight…at the pub…he came home…he's…really angry…Draco…I tried to keep him from coming home angry…and he only got angry with me too…" Severus said between breaths.

"Did he?" Narcissa's question hung in the air as she heard her husband's angry steps approaching.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing here Severus? Did I not tell you to stay out of my business, go home!" Lucius yelled, menacingly.

"Lucius, you're drunk, don't - " Severus began, his voice back to his normal tone, calm reasonable, as was his demeanor.

"Go, before the ministry, or I, am forced to remove you, you've done enough tonight," Lucius said, no longer yelling.

Severus realized that he was a Slytherin, that this wasn't any of his business. It wasn't his family, after all. But it _was _his godson. He should leave, certainly Draco would be ok, Narcissa would protect him…But Narcissa was weak, and if she were to kill Lucius, Draco would have no mother. Severus tried to find reason, tried to sort the shades of gray in his mind, but before he could even pull his wand out in the few seconds it had taken him to come to the conclusion that he should do so, Lucius had already set a curse at him as well as a full body bind.

"It is time for you to leave, friend," Lucius said calmly, as though he were talking to him in normal conversation.

Lucius put another spell on him that sent him out the door and back to his own home.

"Narcissa, get out of my way," Lucius said.

"Lucius, please, what has Draco done?"

"He has been unreasonable, no one can remain this sick for this long, I shall teach him not to deceive us Narcissa," Lucius said.

"But, he truly is sick, surely you can see that!" Narcissa begged.

Lucius pushed his way toward his son, who was holding onto a consciousness he had reached when he had heard his godfather's voice.

"He is sick because he associated with lowly muggles, he has brought this upon himself!" Lucius said. "I shall teach him never to do so."

Lucius was three feet from Draco's bed, who was struggling to get out of bed and stand.

"Stop, stop this instant!" Narcissa said.

"What did you say to me?" Lucius asked, his face contorted in anger as he turned to direct himself at his wife.

"Leave him alone, Lucius, I mean it, I'll - " Narcissa said, her wand out and ready.

Lucius laughed, "Narcissa, you daren't think that you could beat me?"

She looked at him determinedly, and shot a spell at her husband, angry, he easily deflected the spell, and disarmed her with barely the flick of his wand. "Foolish move," Lucius said, striding out to meet Narcissa.

He slapped her hard across the face, the force of which pushed her into the hallway. They struggled, and as they did, neither saw Draco struggle to his feet, and force his way to the door.

"Mum?" he said at the door frame, hardly aware of what was going on.

Lucius turned, having knocked Narcissa to the floor, and slapped his son, who fell back against the wall, barely alive.

Please review! falls to knees Please! stands up, but has no dignity left…maybe later


	6. Dementia

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, or anything you recognize.

**Author's Notes:** This chapter's a bit long. It's the one I've been waiting to write for some time, and I had to finish it. I hope you like, please read and review.

"Hey dad look at me, Think back and talk to me, Did I grow up according to plan? And do you think I'm wasting my time doing things I wanna do?" Perfect, Simple Plan.

**Chapter Six**

_Dementia_

"Lucius, Lucius, stop!" Narcissa screeched, jumping to her feet as fast as she could.

Lucius rounded on her, ready to strike, "What did you say to me, woman?"

Narcissa's breathing was fast and out of control. She wheezed slightly, out of breath and in pain from the fall. All her mind was focused on stopping him, stopping her husband from killing their son. Her son lay on the floor, as pale as he had ever been. His eyes were shut and his face was screwed up in pain. Sweat coming from his face was the only sign he was alive other than his shallow, almost nonexistent, breathing.

"Please, please, don't hurt him Lucius, he's your son, he'll die, please," Narcissa said, actual tears streaming down her face.

Lucius looked coldly at his wife. He was confused and slightly amused at Narcissa's display of emotion. Not once had he ever truly caught her crying, out of control of her emotions, unable to display properly the lack of them. Lucius settled for a brief moment of laughter.

"You are weak, Narcissa, it's pathetic. I will allow you this request, but do not question me again," Lucius said firmly.

Narcissa nodded, managing to say between her sobs, "Thank you, thank you."

Lucius strode past his wife as she moved slightly to allow him out the doorway. Immediately afterward she fell to the floor at Draco's side. Seconds later Theodora appeared.

"Help me put him on the bed," Narcissa said, knowing the house elf would be able to perform the talk more gently than she could.

Theodora nodded and used her gentle form of magic to lift Draco to his bed. Wiping away any remains of her tears, Narcissa rose and went to Draco's side, a numb disbelief taking root in her. She saw Draco's condition declining before her eyes, and quickly cast all healing spells she could think of.

_There must be something else I could do,_ Narcissa thought. Then two dark eyes flashed in her mind, _Severus._ Quickly conjuring a quill, ink, and parchment, she wrote a letter asking for Severus's help. After all, hadn't he been mentioning that new potion he was creating in preparation for finals, the strong healing one? She prayed that it would work, and that Severus would help her…

Severus sat at his desk in his private study. Unable, for the first time since his teenage years, to clear his mind and focus on what the task at hand. He had been trying nonstop to get the Malfoys out of his mind. He tried to concentrate on his essay for his Advanced Potions class, it was his senior year after all, and he needed top marks. But nothing he did had yet to been able to get his godson or his godson's parents off his mind. Frustrated, Severus lashed out at his desk, slamming his fists down upon it.

It was but moments later did a dark brown owl with tiny flecks of grey over it's body appear in his study as well, a letter attached to it's feet. Recognizing the owl as Narcissa's he quickly opened it, while thinking sarcastically, _Just what I need._

Quickly reading the letter, he realized that Draco was going to die. Or he would, if Severus did not interfere. Frustrated and angry, he knew what he would have to do. He'd have to sacrifice his final project for his godson. There was no way around it. He knew he'd never live it down to watch as the poor boy died, especially when he had promised Narcissa years ago, when the abuse had started, that he would do what he could to protect the boy.

Rising and taking great strides to the basement where his potions lab was located, Severus found what he was looking for, his prize potion. Sadly, he knew he'd never be able to make another in time. Any potion, he realized, he would not be able to make in time, and his final exam would suffer a failure. Cursing, Severus bottled it up, having had just enough potion for one vial. With a grimace, he left his home behind.

Narcissa waited nervously for a response to her letter to Severus. Able to keep her son on the edge of life, she knew the task ahead would be difficult. Unable to leave Draco's side, she gave the house elf permission to allow Severus entry to their well guarded home. Theodora quickly alerted the guard elf, who allowed visitors entry, so as the Malfoys would not have to constantly be bothered to get their guests past all the precautions.

Soon Severus was at her side, and she had the strong urge to throw her arms around his neck in relief. "Severus, thank you so much for coming, I know what this means to you," Narcissa said, as Severus's well guarded face examined Draco.

"I had to do it," he said quietly yet his voice was still plain yet guarded.

Severus set to work at administering the potion properly, and soon the vial had been drained. In seconds Draco's condition seemed to become better.

"Thank you so much Severus," Narcissa said.

Severus nodded, "He should be better anywhere from a day to a week from now."

"I suppose we shall be seeing you then, Friday?" Narcissa asked.

He nodded, before saying, as though from a distance, "Goodbye Narcissa."

"Goodbye, Severus," Narcissa replied.

Narcissa hardly left her son's side over the next few hours, which soon became a day. By Wednesday evening, Draco's fever had went down, and he was awake and alert to his surroundings. Narcissa thanked whatever god or goddess had made the progress so fast, and whichever one had sent her Severus. By Thursday, Draco was as healthy (if not more so) than he ever was, up and about the house. Lucius had been in fairly high spirits after the incident, and only got angry at Draco once, having caught him running through the halls. He had hit him then, leaving a bruise above his eye, but it was minor. Draco ate dinner with them Thursday, and Lucius gave him a stern talking to about how he should behave the following day…

It was a cold, December day when the little girl with long, straight black hair stood at her father's side outside a huge and unfamiliar mansion. Not even reaching her father's waist she stood uncomfortable in her dark violet dress and warm overrobe and coat.

Standing together, the six figures looked like a dreary gothic portrait. The small girl who couldn't possibly be any older than five was the only one who even appeared to have any life to her. She looked down, shuffling snow between her shoes as they awaited to be greeted.

Soon enough a small figure appeared at the gate, dressed in a white cloth. His pointed face and large eyes appeared formal and well-to-do, somehow, despite his lack of clothes. He opened the gate, apologizing for having to make them wait.

The girl's father just had a look of disgust on his face as his only reply was a nod, his brown hair almost falling over dark brown eyes. He pulled a little on his daughter's arm, before releasing it, as they made their way to the looming mansion. The house elf opened the door and announced the visitor's presence. The little girl's grey eyes rose and met another's grey eyes.

The boy had blond hair that seemed a bit long to her, and it was so pale it seemed almost to be white. But it wasn't as pale as the tall man that stood beside him. The boy resembled the man a good deal, same eyes, same strong features, but the boy's were softer. Glancing to the next figure, she spotted a fine looking woman in an elegant blue dress, who's appearance was obviously the reason for the boy's softer sides. She had beautiful blue eyes, the same shade as the dress she wore.

Another man appeared, stepping from the shadows to stand behind the boy, next to the boy's father. He had dark eyes, and even darker hair. His nose was a bit long, and somewhat crooked from some sort of abuse taken to it. The girl's eyes lit up, recognizing the man instantly.

"Uncle Severus!" the girl cried.

The man smiled a solemn smile that didn't reach his eyes. "What did I say about being rude?" the man standing beside her said. She looked up into his angry face, he was displeased, she always seemed to do that to him, but she couldn't help but smile. It seemed as though it had been a long time since she had seen the man. She knew that he had come to visit, but she had been grounded to her room at the time. "Sorry father," she said.

"Hello, Severus," the man said, grudgingly. "I trust you've been well since your last visit?"

"I have, as I hope have you?"

"I too," the man agreed. "Lucius, it's been too long, friend."

"Yes, Frank it has," Lucius said. "This is my son Draco, and you've met my wife, Narcissa."

"Good to see you again Narcissa. Hello, Draco. Where are my manners?" he said. "This is my new wife, Helen, and her two sons and daughter," Frank said, in a much more friendly tone.

The woman standing beside her had a deep auburn colored hair with light brown eyes. She smiled warmly, and indicated to the tallest boy, who looked to be (and was) thirteen years old. He had dark brown hair, that looked like his a good deal like her mothers without the red tint. "This is my eldest, Thomas."

"Nice to meet you," Thomas said.

Then she indicated to the second boy, who was a good bit shorter than his brother, and looked to be only eleven. He had light brown hair, and light brown eyes like his mother's, "This is Jason."

"Hello," Jason greeted.

Then she put her hands on the shoulders of the girl, who was a good deal taller than Frank's child. She had dark brown hair, similar to her older brother's, and had an air of superiority to her. She was about ten in years. "This is my daughter, Regina."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Regina said.

Draco looked at Regina. Her smile seemed overly exaggerated and her eyes seemed to be too sharp. She appeared to be conniving, and there was something he didn't trust about the gleam in her eye, he instantly didn't like her.

"This is my daughter, Dementia," Frank said with an air of what would appear to be dignified pride, but lacked a certain something that Draco couldn't quite place.

"It's nice to meet, you," Dementia said, sounding almost shy, with a large smile, as though she was the only one, other than her father, who had meant what she said.

"It's good to see you Frank, we have much catching up to do," Lucius said. "Perhaps the children should go out and enjoy the winter season, perhaps go out to the stables to have a ride?"

"That seems good to me, any objections?" Frank said, looking over his children. No one said anything. Dementia appeared to be interested in the idea, and somewhat excited. Thomas looked dignified standing straight up, but his face was unreadable as to whether or not he cared if they rode, perhaps he really didn't. Jason looked kind of interested, but wiped the look of his face, to look more like his older brother. Regina looked as though she absolutely despised the idea, but forced a smile. "Good."

"Draco, please show our guests to the stables while your mother, Severus and I talk to Frank and Helen," Lucius said, giving him a look as though to say not to screw this up.

"Yes, father," Draco said, quietly, just loud enough for those around him now to hear.

Draco started walking to the door, saying, "Follow me."

Slowly the four other children turned to follow the little boy outside, and then out the door. After the five of them disappeared onto the snow covered grounds, Lucius smiled.

"Now, you must tell me how the move has been coming," Lucius said. He began leading the five of them off, when Narcissa, as she was supposed to do, suggested that her and Helen get to know each other better, leaving the three men alone. The two of them made their way into another sitting area, where soon drinks and food arrived for them as well.

"It's been going quite well. I'm glad the ministry is finally convinced I deserve to be back in my home. America is a fine place, but it isn't like Britain. I'm glad that our children will be attending Hogwarts. I was tempted, at first, to send the boys to Durmstrang. Good, firm school that is…and that fool Albus being headmaster here and whatnot, I was uncertain. The man tends to be rather foolish at times," Frank said, drinking now from his butterbeer.

"Yes, I know what you mean. I had half a mind on sending Draco there as well, but Narcissa absolutely insists that I send Draco to Hogwarts, it being closer and all. She hates being too far from the boy, you know mothers."

"Yes," Frank said.

The conversation continued on. Severus had made no input on it so far. Frank was perfectly happy with this arrangement. He preferred it that way, able to ignore his younger half brother. When the boys were young, perhaps the age of Draco now, Frank and Severus had been close friends, unaware that their bloodlines differed. Whereas Frank was a pureblood, Severus's father was a muggle. Frank had lived with his father, and out of pity he had allowed Eileen to see her son.

Eileen had not wanted to live the pureblood life. She detested it, and had a fascination with muggles. Of course, she had been pressured a lot to marry a pureblood man, named Henry Thorn. She didn't love him and had no wish to marry him. However, on her seventeenth birthday, lingering on her last few years as an acceptable unmarried woman (purebloods were often married off right after leaving school), her mother fell ill. Pressured from her father, and her friends, she agreed to marry him.

At the last moment, she backed out. She could not stand marrying a man she cared not for. With her mother ill and unable to handle any stress, she felt guilty, as though she herself had caused it. She agreed to continue on her pureblood line, and then leave the family. She had a child by Henry, the man who now sat before Lucius.

Henry had allowed his son to visit on weekends. When Frank discovered that Severus was a halfblood, nearing the age of eight, he pulled away from him, and began despising him. However, on his mother's request, he remained civil with him, though he stopped the visits the year he entered Hogwarts. When he had his child, in Eileen's last years of life, when Severus was twenty and Frank was twenty six, Frank agreed to allow Severus and his mother to visit his daughter. Dementia's mother had died during childbirth, and no one talked of her. Frank avoided the subject at all costs, and few really knew who the mother was, though the most commonly accepted rumor was that she was a French girl, who had insisted on remaining with her family during the pregnancy. Severus began to enjoy the company of his niece, and after Eileen's death, Frank knew better than to take away Dementia from him. Severus knew things that could have Frank sent to Azkaban. Grudgingly, he allowed his half brother to visit, and to his great displeasure, his daughter had grown attached to him.

"Severus, you've been quiet today, what happened concerning your final exam?" Lucius asked.

"It turns out that Narcissa explained to Albus that I had used the potion for a sick Draco, and he told my professor at university. I get to do a make up exam."

"That's very good," Lucius said.

"What luck," Frank said, an undertone of some dark disapointment that it had turned out the way it did.

"Yes," Severus said. _It is going to be a long day,_ Severus thought, not for the first time that morning.

Meanwhile, Draco, Dementia, Thomas, Jason, and Regina made their way through the cold to the stables. Draco and Dementia walked quietly, beside each other, Dementia on his right, through the snow, heading up the line while Thomas and Jason followed and Regina tailed behind them at the end of the line.

"I hate this weather, it's too cold!" Regina complained, scrunching up her nose in distaste and pulling her coat closer to her chest.

"Live with it," Jason said.

"What do you think I'm doing!" Regina shot.

"Grumbling, complaining, whining, and thoroughly annoying the rest of us," Tom drawled.

"Shut it, Tom," Regina snapped. "Who talks like that?"

"People with brains, sister," Tom said.

As the three of them argued, Draco and Dementia began talking to each other.

"Your house is nice, is it fun living there?" Dementia asked, their voices quieter than those behind them.

Draco thought of what to say to that. He wasn't much used to conversation with anyone, let alone anyone his own age. Dementia was the first person he'd ever met that was his age. "I don't think it's fun…it's ok, I guess."

"What happened to your head?" Dementia said, indicating the bruise above his left brow.

" Nothing," Draco said quickly, too quickly. Dementia gave him a look, one eyebrow raised. "I mean, I was just running through the halls, and ran into something. I was stupid." He half told the truth, hoping it sounded believable.

It was hard to tell whether or not Dementia had believed him, as she looked deep in thought. "Does your dad ever get mad?"

Draco gave her a look at the sudden change of conversation. He didn't like this one bit. "Uh…not a lot, why?"

"Well…sometimes…you know, when dad gets mad, he gets a little out of hand, like when I get caught running through the house…he hits me sometimes…without thinking about it…so I was just wondering," Dementia said pausing here and there, though not uncomfortably.

Draco could feel his face getting red, becoming warm, contrary to the cold outside. He felt a little uncomfortable. He didn't like this line of questioning, and he wondered how much trouble he would get in for Dementia discovering his secret.

Before he could say anything to break the silence, Dementia continued, "I suppose not. I thought it was normal, but maybe not…" Dementia appeared to be thinking again as silence surrounded them again, though the three siblings could be heard in the background, still bickering.

"Well, yeah, I guess he gets angry. But it's ok," Draco said, quickly.

"Oh," Dementia said. "Do you like quidditch?"

Draco enthusiastically changed the conversation, and soon they were in a playful discussion about what brooms were better, and what team seemed the best, and what games they had seen and how stupid quadpot was. The conversation changed again, and they were in another discussion.

"No, no, viper pops are worse! There horrible!" Draco said.

"No, it's Bertie Botts. There fun to eat, but they can be absolutely horrible," Dementia said.

"But there are some good ones - "

"Exactly, so you never know what you're getting. At least with viper pops you know what you're getting!" Dementia said.

They laughed some. "Hey shut up, Dementia, you're too loud!" Jason exclaimed.

"I'm too loud, you're the one who's been arguing the whole way up here," Dementia said.

"At least our conversation was intelligent," Tom said.

"Coming from an idiot!" Dementia exclaimed in mock shock.

"Hey," Tom said, his voice getting dangerously lower than normal. "Say that to my face."

"Ok," Dementia stopped and turned around. "Since you didn't get it the first time, you're. An. Idiot," she said slowly at the last part.

Tom was angry and went to hit her, but Dementia was too quick and stepped back. "Run!" Dementia exclaimed, and Draco grabbed her hand and spun her around, as he ran, leading the way to the stables.

Tom, Jason and Regina had the longer leg advantage, but Draco and Dementia were well accustomed to running, and being only five, they were gifted with boundless energy. He ran, holding her hand the whole way as they ran faster and faster, each simply trying to manage keep up with the other.

By the time they reached the stables, the other three were a good bit behind.

Dementia approached a saddle, and swung it onto the horse as best she could, then turning and saying to Draco, "Come on!"

She had only ridden a horse once or twice before, and she had never had to saddle the thing. Draco looked at her incredulously. "Are you kidding, we'll get in tons of trouble for leaving them behind, and running off with the horses!"

"Do you do everything you're told? All I know is I don't want to be here when they get here! Come on, where's your sense of adventure!" the small girl said, a smile lighting up her face.

"Alright, alright," Draco said, running over to her and helping her put the saddle on right, and then going to his own horse, that was only for his use, and saddling him, too. Dementia had a girl horse, and she had to have Draco help her on, and then she helped Draco, almost falling off of her horse.

Less than fifteen yards from the barn, Tom, Regina, and Jason were quickly approaching. Dementia said frantically, "Come on!"

They charged out of the stable, nearly trampling the three older children, as they jumped out of the way just in time. Draco was ahead, showing Dementia the way, as she struggled to keep up with him, leaving the protesting, angry kids behind. Freezing cold wind whipped their faces, shocking them and exhilarating them, too.

They were a good deal away from the stables when they reached the woods, taking an easy path to follow, slowing down. They began to laugh from relief and excitement.

"That," Draco said between laughs, "has to be the dumbest thing I've ever done! Did you see the looks on their faces?"

"Yeah" Dementia laughed, then imitated their looks of shock and horror. They laughed some more. Draco's sides began to hurt.

They were talking for a good amount of time when the faint sound of hooves could be heard. They stopped and looked at each other, a little fear showing.

"You don't think -" Dementia said.

"It couldn't be - " Draco said.

The sound became louder and louder, and through the gaps in the leafless trees, three horses with riders abroad could be seen.

"It is," Dementia said, as they both took off, taking the horses at a run.

They were going fast, but the others were catching up. Urging to get the horses to go faster, suddenly a deer jumped onto the path. Both horses reared, knocking the riders into a snow bank, before they took off running again.

"Not good," Dementia said.

Fear welled up in Draco. He couldn't lose the horses! He couldn't!

"Will they come back?" Dementia asked.

"Yeah, probably," Draco said.

The horses would find their way back. With their saddles on, they were magically kept warm. His father, however, would be furious that Draco had been so careless, and so rude. Scurrying as far off the path as possible, Draco and Dementia just barely escaped being trampled by the three horses.

The two boys were laughing at them, and the girl, looking a good deal rattled by the whole thing, jumped off her horse before she joined in.

"Who's the idiots, now?" Tom asked.

"We _were_ coming out to teach you a lesson, but I think we'll just leave you to it now, have fun on the walk back," Jason said.

"Come on Regina," Tom said, and Regina got onto her horse, struggling because of her height and dress.

They galloped away, back toward the house, leaving the two young children alone in the woods. "This isn't good," Dementia said.

"No, really?" Draco said, his voice a little higher than normal. Silence followed this response.

He was terrified of his father's reaction to what had all just happened. He wished that Dementia and them would never leave. Certainly his, or their, fathers wouldn't punish them until they were apart, not more than a yelling to or stern talking to for now. It was when they left that the real punishment would begin.

"Well, we better head back," Dementia said, and they started heading back to the manor.

Dementia began talking as though nothing had happened, but when Draco didn't respond, Dementia looked at him, "What's wrong?"

Draco looked at her incredulously, "What's wrong? We just lost two horses, ran off into the woods, almost trampled your brothers and sister, disobeyed our fathers and you want to know what's wrong? Aren't you afraid of how they're going to react?"

Dementia appeared to be thinking, "They'll be angry."

"Yes, yes, they'll be angry," Draco said.

"So?" Dementia asked.

"So? What do they do when they get angry?" Draco asked, shocked that she didn't seem to realize the situation they were in.

"Punish us," Dementia said simply.

"And you're not afraid of that?" Draco said, his voice almost a whisper.

"They would do it anyway. I can't live my life in fear, it'll hurt, but at least I had some fun this time."

Draco was quiet after that. He was stunned at her response, and her bravery. She was right. Draco feared his father, but despite what had happened today, he would have found a reason to punish him. And he'd had fun, the most fun he could ever remember having in his life. He couldn't live in fear of what his father would do. Of course, fear would be there, but he couldn't let that fear control everything he did. He'd suffer, but he'd survive. He wanted to live, to really live, for the first time in his memory. To live his life, not his father's, not to be a character in his father's book, but the main one in his own. He smiled.

"Yeah, it was fun," Draco said.

They talked, though not as enthusiastically as before. It was dark by the time they left the woods, and Draco and Dementia followed the path very carefully and very slowly so as to not get lost. Timidly, they both entered the manor.

Their fathers were instantly alerted when they reached the doorstep. The house elves took their slightly wet coats and outer layers, until Draco was in his pants and shirt alone and Dementia was in her dress. When that was done, their fathers, Narcissa, Helen, and Jason, Tom, and Regina appeared to greet them. It was not a happy greeting.

Lucius and Frank looked outraged. Narcissa simply looked worried and relieved at the same time, while Helen looked disgusted at her stepdaughter. Tom and Jason looked smug, and Regina was smirking at them.

"What, pray tell, do you think you were doing young lady?" Frank said, his voice strained in an attempt to keep in control.

"I…I'm sorry father, there was no excuse for my behavior," Dementia said softly. Draco looked at her, he could see the fear now. They were standing close, Dementia's hands were held behind her back. He reached back out of instinct and grabbed one, squeezing it in reassurance that it was all ok.

"And you, don't think you're are exempt from blame, young man. What do you think you were doing, just gallivanting off into the woods without any supervision, and being incredibly rude to our guests, I thought I taught you better than that," Lucius said.

At first Draco thought that he would be unable to respond, as he normally was, but he found his own voice replying, "I'm truly sorry father. I was foolish, and stupid."

"You bet you were," Lucius said, his voice threatening to become a growl.

"I think," Frank said as though he had an idea, "That it be best if they were separated. I think we'd best move back to America, as we discussed after hearing of their little escapade."

Draco and Dementia looked horrified at one another. Draco dropped her hand.

"Father - " he said in protest, before he realized it.

"Be quiet, boy, your opinion is not welcome," Lucius said, reprimanding him.

"Dad, please," Dementia said.

"No, I think it best. I'm sorry Lucius, I hope to keep in touch with you, but until my daughter has learned some respect for my authority, I believe it best that she be separated from your son. Things cannot continue on like this, and we do not need them influencing each other to be so foolish."

"You're right, friend," Lucius said. "Say goodbye to Dementia, it is the last time you will be seeing her."

Draco's voice was caught in his throat at first. How could everything have gone so terribly wrong? He wondered. Finally he was able to choke out, "Goodbye, Dementia."

"Goodbye," she said quietly. Then, unexpectedly, neither was sure who initiated it, perhaps they both had, they hugged. Dementia's head away from other' view, she whispered, "Write me."

Barely moving his lips, "I will."

They let go. "You are to have absolutely no contact with each other, is that understood?" Frank asked.

They nodded. "You will be punished severely if we find any evidence to the contrary, you get that, don't you?" Lucius continued.

"Yes, father," Draco said.

"Yes, sir," Dementia said quietly.

"Now, it's time we leave," Frank said. "I'm truly sorry it turned out this way, Lucius, until we meet again."

"Until we meet again," Lucius said.

Helen and the three made their way to leave first, the houselves having hung their coats by the door. All three gave Dementia a look of triumph before leaving. Her father turned her around, and put a hand on her back, guiding her out sternly, "Come on."

She turned and grey eyes met grey eyes. Both seemed pleading and lost a little. "Bye, Draco."

"Bye, Dementia."

**Author's Final Note:** I hope you like this. It won't be the last time you see Dementia, as you'll soon find out, though time changes people. Please review, what's left of my sanity is depending on it!


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